


They Can't Take That Away From Me

by celestialism



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Are we still tagging for CATWS spoilers?, Captain America: The First Avenger, Flashbacks, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Steve Rogers, Pining, Please pay attention to future tag changes, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Captain America: The First Avenger, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rating will probably go up, Slow Build, Some canon issues, Song Lyrics, There is no fixed progression of time, This will be a multi chapter fic, Un-beta'd so please forgive, mostly drabble
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 06:56:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3372026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialism/pseuds/celestialism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by Ella Fitzgerald's song of the same title; each chapter is based on a line from the lyrics.</p><p>Steve's memories of moments spent with Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Can't Take That Away From Me

**Author's Note:**

> I have loved this song for years, but now every time I hear it all I can think of is Steve and Bucky throughout their lives together... Please understand that this will be pretty fragmented - basically the format is like vignettes of Steve's life which correspond to each line of text in the song.  
> If you are unfamiliar with this song, please go and listen to it, and any other songs by the fantastic Ella Fitzgerald, because her voice is spectacular and it may or may not change your life.
> 
> Enjoy, and feel free to comment and/or critique.

Steve’s lost count of how many fights Bucky has pulled him out of; his own head ringing, knuckles bloody, voice hoarse from shouting indignantly at whatever asshole he’s pissed off.  
Both of them stopped counting long ago just how many times Bucky has finished what Steve started, swinging right into the thick of it, dragging Steve out, spending hours yelling about just how stupid and reckless Steve can be.  
They’ve also stopped counting the moments when Bucky’s fingers have gingerly grasped Steve’s chin, his jaw, clenched in the hair at the nape of his neck, fear clawing at his insides, as he inspects fresh injuries and prays that Steve’s body will recover.

Bruises and fractured bones on top of the list of shit his immune system is fighting with every moment; it’s a wonder Steve’s still alive, let alone got any teeth left.

Steve feels his breath rattle in his chest, and he doesn’t really catch what Bucky says. His hearing is sketchy on a good day, but being roughed-up in an alley admittedly doesn’t help. He assumes Bucky’s sassing him, drawling something sarcastic about his inability to sit down and shut up.

“I had him on the ropes.” he spits out. He’s shaking muck of his sleeve, and he can taste the tang of blood from his split lip. His vision is still swimming, and he knows he’ll have a shiner tomorrow. He’s angry, he’s filthy, he’s ready to give Bucky an earful about interfering, and _yes, Bucky, like I chose Jersey of all places because I goddamned wanted-_

 _Fuck,_ is all his brain offers when he lifts his head. An astute reaction, he figures, at the way Bucky stands there, back straight and shoulders squared. Heat flares in his gut, alongside a sharp stab of jealousy and unease. The uniform is perfect, and Steve wants to rip it off him, for various reasons.  
Of course, Bucky would have passed medical without a hitch. Even though he spends too much time worrying about Steve to allow himself to ever reach the peak of his own health, his shifts at the docks, and whatever work he can find with the mechanic certainly have their physical (and aesthetic) benefits.

The lines of the uniform are impeccable, shadows dance along the straps, the pockets, the cinched waistline; the buttons glint in the strained light.  
But the _hat_.  
It’s angled, and the right side of his face is cast into shade, accentuating the sharp angles of his cheekbones; even more so when tilts his head and curls that frankly sinful mouth of his into a proud smirk.

 _Sergeant_.  
The word bounces around Steve’s head and he wants to curl his tongue around it, but he’s frozen. He wants to be angrier, like he was a moment ago, but his fingers itch with the need to sketch Bucky in his uniform, with his hat, ( _in just the hat…_ )

“I should be going,” he says, attempting to tear his eyes away from Bucky’s face. It’s fruitless, his attempt. He can’t look away. He could never look away, not with Bucky.  
Bucky isn’t like the sun. The sun is beautiful; it shines, but it burns.  
No, Bucky is the moon - shining brighter, demanding to be seen.

Bucky's arm around his shoulders is impossibly heavy, but the sincerity of his grin and the affection in his eyes is so incredible, Steve dares to think that maybe this is a weight he can carry... God knows he'll try.

**Author's Note:**

> Can you tell I wrote this at 2am?
> 
> [come shout at me on tumblr](http://cryosoldiers.tumblr.com)


End file.
